


Nunton's Wedding

by maiden_aunt (SCFrankles)



Series: Nunton Ties the Knot [2]
Category: Dear Ladies
Genre: Gen, Humor, M/M, Same-Sex Marriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-21
Updated: 2015-08-21
Packaged: 2018-04-16 11:52:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4624356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SCFrankles/pseuds/maiden_aunt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is the day of Nunton and Boothby's wedding. Hilda and Evadne will be attending, naturally.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nunton's Wedding

**Author's Note:**

> For my sister. 
> 
> Who has promised never to Google my fanfiction but has received this in paper form. Incidentally, it was my sister who suggested the perfect song for Hilda and Evadne to sing at the reception. (She's the bright one in the family.) 
> 
>    
> Hinge and Bracket were created by Patrick Fyffe and George Logan. _Dear Ladies_ was written by Fyffe and Logan, and Gyles Brandreth, and produced by the BBC.
> 
> My story uses characters from the episode _Nunton at 70_ of the BBC radio series _The Random Jottings of Hinge and Bracket_ by Gerald Frow.

Evadne settled herself down into the passenger seat of the Rolls, and flicked through the road atlas until she found the correct page. She turned towards the house.

“Oh, do hurry up, Hilda!” she called.

Hilda appeared at the front door, adjusting her shawl over her outfit.

“Patience, dear.” She closed the door behind her and locked it. “We have got an hour and a half before the wedding begins.”

“Yes.” Evadne frowned at the atlas. “But it’ll take us nearly that to get to Billericay and it is generally considered a good idea to arrive before the couple getting married.”

Hilda checked the front door one last time, walked over to the driver’s side of the Rolls and got in.

Evadne rolled her eyes. “What on earth are you wearing, Hilda?”

Hilda waved a gloved hand and looked away, raising her eyebrows. “I believe it is customary to dress up for a wedding...”

“That is as may be,” said Evadne. “But an off-white silk dress? A fascinator with net? That large—and dare I say it—rather vulgar buttonhole of pink roses?” Evadne shook her head. “I don’t know why you didn’t just wear a veil and carry a bouquet while humming ‘Here Comes the Bride’. It all seems in rather poor taste.”

Hilda started the engine and turned to glare at Evadne. “My dear, for a start this dress is a delicate pale grey, not off-white.” She put the Rolls into gear and released the handbrake. “And anyway, I can hardly upstage the bride, can I? Not when there are two grooms.”

Evadne wrinkled her nose as they began to move down the drive. “I simply think you should have gone for something a little more tasteful. A little more… subtle.”

“You mean like yours?” Hilda raised her eyebrows. “You’re dressed like you’re going to a funeral. Which hardly seems in good taste when Nunton is 101 and Boothby is 103.”

“Navy blue is perfectly appropriate for a wedding!” Evadne gave Hilda a sharp look. “And at least no-one is going to think I’m one of the participants.”

“Oh, just… concentrate on your navigating,” said Hilda. She bent her head to one side and gave a tight grin. “If you’re trying to ‘drive me up the wall’, then you’re ‘going the right way’ about it.”

Evadne sighed. “I think this is going to be a long, _long_ journey…”

 

“Surely we must be nearly there now,” said Hilda, an hour and a quarter later.

Evadne studied the atlas. “It should be just around this last bend and… _Gracious.”_

“That certainly is a big one,” agreed Hilda, looking impressed. “Are you sure this is the place?”

“Billericay Queens Hotel is what it says on the sign,” said Evadne.

“But it’s enormous.” Hilda stared at the building. “I thought it’d just be an intimate little do. You know, considering their ages.”

Evadne shrugged. “You know Nunton. Given the choice he always likes to let his hair down.”

“What’s left of it,” said Hilda.

Evadne nodded. “Yes…”

 

At the reception desk, Hilda and Evadne asked for directions.

“Ah, yes,” said the young man. “It’s being held in our Ivor Novello suite. Just take the lift up to the first floor, turn left, turn right, turn right again, go up a short flight of steps, go through a pair of double doors, turn left, go up another flight of stairs, turn right, walk down the corridor for fifty yards and it’s there in front of you. You can’t miss it.”

“Right…” said Hilda.

She gave the young man a weak smile and turned to Evadne. “Have you got that?”

Evadne smiled kindly. “Of course I have. Don’t worry, dear.”

 

“We’re lost, aren’t we?” said Hilda.

“No, no…” Evadne anxiously wavered between two directions, and then decisively chose one.

“We have been going round in circles for the last ten minutes,” said Hilda, trotting after her. “Let’s find a lift, go back to reception and find someone to guide us up.”

“That really won’t be necessary, Hilda,” said Evadne, though she didn’t sound certain. “I’m sure it can’t be much further away…”

They turned a corner and—

“Oh, thank heavens!” cried Hilda.

The door a few yards ahead of them was indeed labelled ‘Ivor Novello’.

As they hurried towards the suite, a competent-looking woman in a smart suit came out to meet them. She looked them up and down.

“The Odstock-Pagnell wedding?”

“That’s right,” smiled Evadne.

“Wonderful!” The woman relaxed and smiled back at her. “You were so late we thought you weren’t coming.” She ushered them towards the door of the suite. “If you’re ready, we can get started then.”

“Goodness,” said Hilda. “I didn’t realise we were so necessary to proceedings.”

The woman laughed. “I think you probably are.”

They entered the suite, and several guests turned round to look at them. Evadne and Hilda gave them all an awkward smile.

“We’ll just find a seat at the back then,” whispered Hilda.

The woman looked at them strangely. “The front is more traditional.”

“Well, we wouldn’t want to interfere with tradition, I suppose...” Hilda looked in bewilderment at Evadne, who shrugged in equal bemusement.

They followed the woman to the front, where she stopped and faced the guests. “Well, now I think we’re ready to begin.” She gestured to Hilda and Evadne to indicate they should stand in front of her, one to each side.

Light began to dawn on Evadne’s face. “Er,” she said, “I don’t think…”

The woman ignored her. “So, we are here today to celebrate the marriage of Nunton Odstock and Boothby Pagnell. But before we begin, is there anyone here present who knows of any legal impediment why these two people should not…”

 

Outside in the corridor, two elderly but nevertheless sprightly gentlemen were walking as swiftly as possible towards the Ivor Novello Suite.

“Great heavens, Boothby,” said Nunton. “I can’t believe, after waiting all these years, we are going to be late for our own wedding! All that messing about you were doing on the phone…”

Boothby straightened his cravat. “Do try and see things from my point of view. I had to make sure that Agnes would be safe before we set off for Portugal.”

“That wretched cello of yours!” Nunton rolled his eyes. “You should have finalised the details earlier. I mean, there can’t be a honeymoon if we don’t make it to the actual ceremony, can there? Come on!”

He strode to the suite’s door and pushed it open.

And stopped dead on the threshold. “Dear God!”

 

“...anyone here present who knows of any legal impediment why these two people should not be joined together in wedlock?”

Miss Brennan paused and furrowed her brow. She’d had a fair amount of curious experiences since becoming a registrar. But this was the first time that particular question had been met with both halves of the bridal couple and all of the guests putting their hands up.

 

Nunton was still chuckling at the reception.

“Hilda Bracket. I should have known you’d always take centre stage—even at my wedding.”

Hilda gave him and Boothby a weak smile and took another sip of champagne.

“We must apologise again,” said Evadne. “It just all happened so fast!”

“No need, dear ladies,” said Boothby. He grinned. “It has certainly made for a memorable wedding day.”

Hilda frowned. “I’m still annoyed though. Fancy thinking Evadne and myself were you and Nunton!” She smoothed down her dress.

“I suppose the registrar was just trying to keep an open mind,” said Evadne. She indicated Hilda’s outfit. “I did tell you that it looked like a wedding dress!”

“It does _not—”_ began Hilda.

Nunton patted her hand. “You look truly splendid, my darling.” He winked at Evadne, and then returned his attention to Hilda. “And now for our wedding present: what are you going to sing for us?”

“Well diverted…” murmured Evadne.

Hilda gave Nunton a coy smile. “It’s a surprise.”

“How marvellous.” Nunton cleared his throat and addressed the whole room. “Attention, everyone! Evadne and Hilda—goodness, is that you, Sybilla? I thought you were dead—Evadne and Hilda are now going to perform for us.”

There was a smattering of applause, and Hilda and Evadne made their way over to a piano in the corner of the room. Evadne seated herself before the keyboard and raised her eyebrows enquiringly at Hilda. Hilda nodded, and away they went.

As Hilda began to sing ‘There is beauty in the bellow of the blast’ from The Mikado, there was just the start of tittering but the laughter began to grow as more and more people caught on.

And then Evadne reached the relevant lyrics. _“There is beauty in extreme old age. Do you fancy you are elderly enough? Information I'm requesting on a subject interesting: Is a fellow all the better when he's tough?”_

Hilda smiled. _“Throughout this wide dominion, it's the general opinion that he'll last a good deal longer when he's tough.”_

Evadne continued on. _“Are you old enough to marry, do you think? Won't you wait till you are eighty in the shade? There's a fascination frantic in a ruin that's romantic; do you think you are sufficiently decayed?”_

 _“To the matter that you mention, I have given some attention…”_ Hilda giggled. _“...and I think I am sufficiently decayed...”_

They took a deep breath and joined together to finish the song:

 _If that is so_  
_Sing derry down derry!_  
_It's evident, very_  
_Our tastes are one_  
_Away we'll go_  
_And merrily marry_  
_Nor tardily tarry_  
_'Til day is done!_

 _Sing derry down derry!_  
_We'll merrily marry_  
_Nor tardily tarry_  
_'Til day is done!_

 

There were roars of laughter and great applause, not least from the newly married couple.

 _“Brave! Brave!”_ called Boothby, using the Italian feminine plural.

“Throw us ye bouquet, Hilda!” yelled Nunton, using the English vernacular.

Hilda beamed, removed her buttonhole and tossed it into the guests, where it was caught by a very surprised elderly lady.

Evadne leaned forward to whisper to Hilda. “I somehow can’t see _Sybilla_ being the next to get married.”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Hilda smiled as she watched Nunton give his new husband a kiss. “It’s never too late, is it?”

**Author's Note:**

> The Mikado in general, and ‘There is beauty in the bellow of the blast’ in particular, is of course the work of WS Gilbert and Arthur Sullivan.


End file.
